La Touche, having finished his report, put on his hat and sallied forth into the rue de la Fayette. He intended after posting his letter to cross to the south side and spend the evening with some friends. He was not in an agreeable frame of mind. The conclusion to which he was apparently being forced would be a disappointment to Clifford, and, if the theory of Boirac’s guilt broke down, he saw no better than the solicitor what defence remained. He sauntered slowly along the pavement, his mind brooding almost subconsciously on the case. Then, noticing a letter-box on the opposite side of the street, he turned to cross over. But as he stepped off the sidewalk an idea flashed into his mind and he stopped as if shot. That typewriter the pretty girl in Boirac’s office had been using was a new machine. La Touche was an observant man, and he had noted the fact, as he habitually noted small details about the objects he saw. But not until this moment did he realise the tremendously suggestive deduction which might be made from the fact. Lefarge, in his search for the machine on which the Le Gautier letter had been typed, had obtained samples from all the typewriters to which Boirac, so far as he could ascertain, had access. But what if that new machine replaced an old? What if that old machine had typed the Le Gautier letter and had been then got rid of so that samples taken by suspicious detective might be supplied from some other typewriter? Here was food for thought. If he could prove anything of this kind he need have no fear of disappointing his employer. He put the report back in his pocket till he could adjust himself to this new point of view.
And then he had a revulsion of feeling. After all, offices must necessarily procure new typewriters, and there was no reason in this case to suppose a machine had been purchased otherwise than in the ordinary course of business. And yet—the idea was attractive.
He decided he might as well make some inquiries before forwarding his report. It would be a simple matter to find out when the new machine was purchased, and, if the date was not suspicious, the matter could be dropped.
He considered the best way of ascertaining his information. His first idea was to meet the typist and ask her the direct question. Then he saw that if her answer supported his theory, not only would further inquiries be necessary, but no hint that these were being made must reach Boirac. It might therefore be better to try diplomacy.
To La Touche diplomatic dealing was second nature, and he was not long in devising a plan. He looked at his watch. It was 5.15. If he hurried he might reach the pump works before the pretty typist left.
From the window of the café which had so often served in a similar capacity, he watched the office staff take their departure. For a long time his victim did not appear, and he had almost come to the conclusion she must have gone, when he saw her. She was with two other girls, and the three, after glancing round the street, tripped off daintily citywards.
When they had gone a fair distance La Touche followed. The girls stood for a moment at the Simplon Station of the Metro, then the pretty typist vanished down the steps, while the others moved on along he pavement. La Touche sprinted to the entrance and was in time to see the gray dress of the quarry disappearing down the passage labelled Porte d’Orléans. He got his ticket and followed to the platform. There was a fairly dense crowd, and, after locating mademoiselle he mingled with it, keeping well back out of sight.
A train soon drew up and the girl got in. La Touche entered the next carriage. Standing at the end of his vehicle he could see her through the glass between the coaches without, he felt sure, being himself visible. One, two, five stations passed, and then she got up and moved towards the door ready to alight. La Touche did the same, observing from the map in the carriage that the next station was not a junction. As the train jerked and groaned to a standstill he leaped out and hurried to the street. Crossing rapidly, he stopped at a kiosk and asked for an evening paper. Bending over the counter of the stall, he saw her emerge up the steps and start off down the street. He remained on the opposite side, cautiously following until, after about two blocks, she entered a small, unpretentious restaurant.
‘If she is going to dine alone,’ thought La Touche, ‘I am in luck.’
He waited till she would have probably reached her second or third course and then entered the building.
The room was narrow, corresponding to the frontage, but stretched a long way back, the far end being lighted with electric lamps. A row of marble-topped tables stretched down each side, with six cane chairs at each. Mirrors framed in dingy white and gold lined the walls. At the extreme back was a tiny stage on which an orchestra of three girls was performing.
The place was about half full. As La Touche’s quick eye took in the scene, he noticed the typist seated alone at a table three or four from the stage. He walked forward.
‘If mademoiselle permits?’ he murmured, bowing, but hardly looking at her, as he pulled out a chair nearly opposite her and sat down.
He gave his order and then, business being as it were off his mind, he relaxed so far as to look around. He glanced at the girl, seemed suddenly to recognise her, gave a mild start of surprise and leant forward with another bow.
‘Mademoiselle will perhaps pardon if I presume,’ he said, in his best manner, ‘but I think we have met before or, if not quite, almost.’
The girl raised her eyebrows but did not speak.
‘In the office of M. Boirac,’ went on the detective. ‘You would not, of course, notice, but I saw you there busy with a fine typewriter.’
Mademoiselle was not encouraging. She shrugged her shoulders, but made no reply. La Touche had another shot.
‘I am perhaps impertinent in addressing mademoiselle, but I assure her no impertinence is meant. I am the inventor of a new device for typewriters, and I try to get opinion of every expert operator I can find on its utility. Perhaps mademoiselle would permit me to describe it and ask hers?’
‘Why don’t you take it to some of the agents?’ She spoke frigidly.
‘Because, mademoiselle,’ answered La Touche, warming to his subject, ‘I am not quite certain if the device would be sufficiently valuable. It would be costly to attach and no firm would buy unless it could be shown that operators wanted it. That is what I am so anxious to learn.’
She was listening, though not very graciously. La Touche did not wait for a reply, but began sketching on the back of the menu.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘is my idea,’ and he proceeded to draw and describe the latest form of tabulator with which he was acquainted. The girl look at him with scorn and suspicion.
‘You’re describing the Remington tabulator,’ she said coldly.
‘Oh, but, pardon me, mademoiselle. You surely don’t mean that? I have been told this is quite new.’
‘You have been told wrongly. I ought to know, for I have been using one the very same, as what you say is yours, for several weeks.’
‘You don’t say so, mademoiselle? That means that I have been forestalled and all my work has been wasted.’
La Touche’s disappointment was so obvious that the girl thawed slightly.
‘You’d better call at the Remington depot and ask to see one of their new machines. Then you can compare their tabulator with yours.’
‘Thank you, mademoiselle, I’ll do so to-morrow. Then you use a Remington?’
‘Yes, a No. 10.’
‘Is that an old machine? Pardon my questions, but have you had it long?’
‘I can’t tell you how long it has been at the office. I am only there myself six or seven weeks.’
Six or seven weeks! And the murder took place just over six weeks before! Could there be a connection, or was this mere coincidence?
‘It must be a satisfaction to a man of business,’ La Touche went on conversationally, as he helped himself to wine, ‘when his business grows to the extent of requiring an additional typist. I envy M. Boirac his feelings when he inserted his advertisement nearly as much as I envy him when you applied.’
‘You have wasted your envy then,’ returned the girl in chilly and contemptuous tones, ‘for you are wrong on both points. M. Boirac’s business has not extended, for I replaced a girl who had just left, and no advertisement was inserted as I went to M. Boirac from the Michelin School in the rue Scribe.’
La Touche had got his information; at least, all he had expected from this girl. He continued the somewhat one-sided conversation for some minutes, and then with a courteous bow left the restaurant. He reached his hotel determined to follow the matter up.
Accordingly, next morning saw him repeating his tactics of the previous evening. Taking up his position in the restaurant near the Pump Works shortly before midday, he watched the staff go for déjeuner. First came M. Boirac, then M. Dufresne, and then a crowd of lesser lights—clerks and typists. He saw his friend of the night before with the same two companions, closely followed by the prompt clerk. At last the stream ceased, and in about ten minutes the detective crossed the road and once more entered the office. It was empty except for a junior clerk.
‘Good-morning,’ said La Touche affably. ‘I called to ask whether you would be so good as to do me a favour. I want a piece of information for which, as it may give you some trouble to procure, I will pay twenty francs. Will you help me?’
‘What is the information, monsieur?’ asked the boy—he was little more than a boy.
‘I am manager of a paper works and I am looking for a typist for my office. I am told that a young lady typist left here about six weeks ago?’
‘That is true, monsieur; Mlle. Lambert.’
‘Yes, that is the lady’s name,’ returned La Touche, making a mental note of it.
‘Now,’ he continued confidentially, ‘can you tell me why she left?’
‘I think she was dismissed, monsieur, but I never really understood why.’
‘Dismissed?’
‘Yes, monsieur. She had some row with M. Boirac, our managing director. I don’t know—none of us know—what it was about.’
‘I had heard she was dismissed, and that is why I was interested in her. Unfortunately my business is not for the moment as flourishing as I should wish. It occurred to me that if I could find a typist who had some blot on her record, she might be willing to come to me for a smaller salary than she would otherwise expect. It would benefit her as well as me, as it would enable her to regain her position.’
The clerk bowed without comment, and La Touche continued:—
‘The information I want is this. Can you put me in touch with this young lady? Do you know her address?’
The other shook his head.
‘I fear not, monsieur. I don’t know where she lives.’
La Touche affected to consider.
‘Now, how am I to get hold of her?’ he said. The clerk making no suggestion, he went on after a pause:—
‘I think if you could tell me just when she left it might help me. Could you do that?’
‘About six weeks ago. I can tell you the exact day by looking up the old wages sheets if you don’t mind waiting. Will you take a seat?’
La Touche thanked him and sat down, trusting the search would be concluded before any of the other clerks returned. But he was not delayed long. In three or four minutes the boy returned.
‘She left on Monday, the 5th of April, monsieur.’
‘And was she long with you?’
‘About two years, monsieur.’
‘I am greatly obliged. And her Christian name was?’
‘éloise, monsieur. éloise Lambert.’
‘A thousand thanks. And now I have just to beg of you not to mention my visit, as it would injure me if it got out that my business was not too flourishing. Here is my debt to you.’ He handed over the twenty francs.
‘It is too much, monsieur. I am glad to oblige you without payment.’
‘A bargain is a bargain,’ insisted the detective, and, followed by the profuse thanks of the young clerk, he left the office.
‘This grows interesting,’ thought La Touche, as he once more emerged into the street. ‘Boirac dismisses a typist on the very day the cask reaches St. Katherine’s Docks. Now, I wonder if the new typewriter made its appearance at the same time. I must get hold of that girl Lambert.’
But how was this to be done? No doubt there would be a record of her address somewhere in the office, but he was anxious that no idea of his suspicions should leak out, and he preferred to leave that source untapped. What, then, was left to him? He could see nothing for it but an advertisement.
Accordingly, he turned into a café and, calling for a bock, drafted out the following:—
‘If Mlle. éloise Lambert, stenographer and typist, will apply to M. Georges La Touche, H?tel Suisse, rue de La Fayette, she will hear something to her advantage.’
He read ever the words and then a thought struck him, and he took another sheet of paper and wrote:—
‘If Mlle. éloise Lambert, stenographer and typist, will apply to M. Guillaume Faneuil, H?tel St. Antoine, she will hear something to her advantage.’
‘If Boirac should see the thing, there’s no use in my shoving into the limelight,’ he said to himself. ‘I’ll drop Georges La Touche for a day or two and try the St. Antoine.’
He sent his advertisement to several papers, then, going to the H?tel St. Antoine, engaged a room in the name of M. Guillaume Faneuil.
‘I shall not require it till to-morrow,’ he said to the clerk, and next day he moved in.
During the morning there was a knock at the door of his private sitting-room, and a tall, graceful girl of about five-and-twenty entered. She was not exactly pretty, but exceedingly pleasant and good-humoured looking. Her tasteful, though quiet, dress showed she was not in need as a result of losing her situation.
La Touche rose and bowed.
‘Mlle. Lambert?’ he said with a smile. ‘I am M. Faneuil. Won’t you sit down?’
‘I saw your advertisement in Le Soir, monsieur, and—here I am.’
‘I am much indebted to you for coming so promptly, mademoiselle,’ said La Touche, reseating himself, ‘and I shall not trespass long on your time. But before explaining the matter may I ask if you are the Mlle. Lambert who recently acted as typist at the Avrotte Works?’
‘Yes, monsieur. I was there for nearly two years.’
‘Forgive me, but can you give any proof of that? A mere matter of form, of course, but in justice to my employers I am bound to ask the question.’
An expression of surprise passed over the girl’s face.
‘I really don’t know that I can,’ she answered. ‘You see, I was not expecting to be asked such a question.’
It had occurred to La Touche that in spite of his precautions Boirac might have somehow discovered what he was engaged on, and sent this girl w............